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The men wolfed down the food that was set before them by an Indianwoman, and then, while Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack slept, thechief trader led Bob MacNair to the grave of his father. Twas his heart, lad, or somethin busted inside him, explained theold man. After supper it was, two weeks agone. He was sittin i hischair wi his book an his pipe, an me in anither beside him. He gia deep sigh, like, an his book fell to the ground and his pipe. WhenI got to him his head was leant back agin his chairand he was dead.

Bob MacNair nodded, and the chief trader returned to the store, leavingthe young man standing silent beside the freshturned mound with itsrudely fashioned wooden cross, that stood among the other grassgrownmounds whose wooden crosses, with their burned inscriptions, wereweathergrey and old.

For a long time he stood beside the littlecrosses that lent a solemn dignity to the rugged heights of Fort Norman. It cannot be said that Bob MacNair had loved his father, in thegenerally accepted sense of the word. But he had admired and respectedhim above all other men, and his first thought upon the discovery ofthe lost mine was to vindicate his course in the eyes of this stern, just man who had so strongly advised against it. For the opinion of others he cared not the snap of his fingers. But, to read approval in the deepset eyes of his father, and to hear thedeep, rich voice of him raised, at last, in approbation, rather thanreproach, he had defied death and pushed himself and his Indians to thelimit of human endurance. And he had arrived too late.

The bitternessof the young mans soul found expression only in a hardening of the jawand a clenching of the mighty fists. For, in the heart of him, he knewthat in the future, no matter what the measure of the world might be, always, deep within him would rankle the bitter disappointmenttherealization that this old man had gone to his grave believing that hisson was a fool and a wastrel. Slowly he turned from the spot and, with heavy steps, entered thepoststore. He raised the pack that contained the samples from thefloor, and, walking to the verge of the high cliff that overlooked theriver,

hurled it far out over the water, where it fell with a dullsplash that was drowned in the roar of the rapids. Yell tak charge here the noo, laddie asked McTurk, the grizzledchief trader, the following day when MacNair had concluded theinspection of his fathers papers. Twad be what hed hacounselled No, answered the young man shortly, and, without a word as to thefinding of the lost mine, hurried Old Elk and Wee Johnnie Tamarack intoa canoe and headed southward. A month later the officers of the Hudson Bay Company in Winnipeg gaspedin surprise at the offer of young MacNair to trade the broad acres towhich his father had acquired title in the wheat belt of Saskatchewanand Alberta for a vast tract of barren ground in the

subarctic. Theytraded gladly, and when the young man heard that his dicker had earnedfor him the name of Fool MacNair in the conclave of the mighty, hesmiledand bought more barrens. All of which had happened eight years before Chloe Elliston defied himamong the stumps of her clearing, and in the interim much hadtranspired. In the heart of his barrens he built a post and collectedabout him a band of Indians who soon learned that those who worked inthe mines had a far greater number of brass tokens of made beaver totheir credit than those who trapped fur. Those were hard years for Bob MacNair years in which he worked day andnight with his Indians, and paid them, for the most part, in promises. But always he fed them and clothed them and their women and children, although to do so stretched his credit to the limitraised thelimitand raised it again. He uncovered vast deposits of copper, only to realize that, until hecould devise a cheaper method of transportation, the metal might aswell have remained where the forgotten miners had left it.

And it waswhile he was at work upon his transportation problem that the shovelsof his Indians began to throw out golden grains from the bed of aburied creek. When the news of gold reached the river, there was a stampede. ButMacNair owned the land and his Indians were armed. There was a short, sharp battle, and the stampeders returned to the rivers to nurse theirgrievance and curse Brute MacNair. He paid his debt to the Company and settled with his Indians, whosuddenly found themselves rich. And then Bob MacNair learned a lessonwhich he never forgothis Indians could not stand prosperity.

Most ofthose who had stood by him all through the lean years when he hadprovided them only a bare existence, took their newly acquired wealthand departed for the white mans country. Some returnedbroken husksof the men who departed. Many would never return, and for theirundoing MacNair reproached himself unsparingly, the while he devised aneconomic system of his own, and mined his gold and worked out histransportation problem upon a more elaborate scale. The harm had beendone, however his Indians were known to be rich, and MacNair found hiscolony had become the cynosure of the eyes of the whiskeyrunners, thechiefest among whom was Pierre Lapierre. It was among these men thatthe name of Brute, first used by the beaten stampeders, came intogeneral usea fitting name, from their viewpointfor when one of themchanced to fall into his hands, his moments became at once fraught withtribulation.

And so MacNair had become a power in the Northland, respected by theofficers of the Hudson Bay Company, a friend of the Indians, and aterror to those who looked upon the red man as their natural prey. Step by step, the events that had been the milestones of this manslife recurred to his mind as he tramped tirelessly through the scrubgrowth of the barrens toward a spot upon the shore of the laketheonly grass plot within a radius of five hundred miles. Throwinghimself down beside a low, sodded mound in the centre of the plot, heidly watched the great flocks of water fowls disport themselves uponthe surface of the lake. How long he lay there, he had no means of knowing, when suddenly hisears detected the soft swish of paddles. He leaped to his feet and, peering toward the water, saw, close to the shore, a canoe manned byfour stalwart paddlers.

He looked closer, scarcely able to credit hiseyes. And at the same moment, in response to a lowvoiced order, thecanoe swung abruptly shoreward and grated upon the shingle of thebeach. Two figures stepped out, and Chloe Elliston, followed by BigLena, advanced boldly toward him. MacNairs jaw closed with a snap asthe approached smiling. For in the smile was no hint offriendlinessonly defiance, not unmingled with contempt.